Page 18 of Christmas Mittens Murder

“Someone told you about my marriage troubles. Who was it? Betty? Doris? Abby? They all know about it. Abby! I bet it was Abby!”

Hayley hesitated answering because she certainly did not want to reveal her source and possibly cause even more friction within the already fractured knitting circle.

“Did she also happen to mention that Woody was having an affair with Esther behind my back? They thought they were being so clever sneaking around and hiding it from me, but when I saw Esther’s signature lipstick on Woody’s collar, I just had to laugh. I mean, really. What a stupid rookie mistake.”

“So you weren’t mad?”

Helen stared at her blankly. “Mad? Why would I be mad? I don’t care one whit about what those two were up to behind my back!”

The loud conversation in the tiny shop finally garnered Debbie’s attention. She casually set her paperback down, stood up, walked around the counter and began rearranging the nativity scene in the display window nearby so she was close enough to eavesdrop.

“Look, Hayley, this is none of your business, but if you must know, my marriage died decades ago.”

“Then why stay together? Your kids are all grown up now and gone. Why punish yourselves?”

“Because frankly neither of us is willing to move out of that grand house we built together when we were newlyweds. We both love that house. If we got divorced, then one of us would be forced to leave it behind and neither of us is willing to do that, so now we’re basically just roommates. Woody is a lout, a slob, and a pain in my backside, but he can do whatever he wants as long as he doesn’t interfere with my personal pursuits like my knitting circle and my time share in Boca Raton.”

“I don’t understand. But if you’ve known all along, and don’t care, then why were you and Esther fighting at the Christmas bazaar? You ran out crying!”

“Oh, that!” Helen exclaimed. “Of course I was upset. You would not believe what that woman did.”

Hayley leaned in. “Try me.”

Even Debbie stopped fumbling with the ceramic Baby Jesus to get the full story.

Helen’s eyes welled up with tears at the mere mention of the painful memory. “That woman . . . she . . . she told me that the reindeer sweater I was wearing at the bazaar looked tacky.”

Hayley had to bite her tongue.

What reindeer sweater does not look tacky?

Hayley could hear Debbie suppressing a chuckle just a few feet away from them.

“What Esther didn’t know was that my long-dead grandmother Flossie knitted that sweater in her own circle way back in the 1950s and saved it for the granddaughter she hoped to have one day.”

Hayley remembered the sweater Helen was wearing at the bazaar. The 1950s? No wonder it had the distinct aroma of mothballs.

“Grandma Flossie gave that sweater to me as a Christmas present on my eighteenth birthday, a few months before she died.” Helen choked up. “I have worn it every Christmas since and cherished it my entire adult life. It has enormous sentimental value. So you can imagine what a slap in the face it was for Esther to so cruelly laugh at it. That’s why I ran out. I was terribly upset.”

So Helen Woodworth held a knitted wool reindeer sweater in much higher regard than her own flesh-and-blood husband of nearly forty years.

“And so we are crystal clear, Hayley, before your mind starts going to any dark places, just because Esther hurt my feelings, that is not enough for me to chase her down in the church cemetery and stab her with her knitting needle, so don’t start jumping to conclusions!”

Hayley held her hands up in surrender.

She actually believed Helen was telling the truth.

Which meant that Helen did not have any real motive to murder Esther.

Leaving the burning question.

Then who did?

Chapter Nine

Hayley had never held much affection for Helen Woodworth’s husband, Woody, but she had to admit that he was a master craftsman when it came to boat building. Woody had been working at Collier Yachts for decades, ever since he was in his late teens, and quickly earned the respect of the owners, brothers Tom and Brett Collier. Their family had started the business over forty years ago. The Collier family from Philadelphia had discovered the natural beauty of Mount Desert Island in the late 1800s and immediately embraced the down-east traditions of sailing and the area’s rich history of boat building. The family-run company had since produced a long line of stunning yachts that never failed to turn heads. Their clientele had included presidents, kings, athletes, Wall Street titans, and Hollywood stars among a long line of deep-pocketed sailing enthusiasts. They had always relied on the support of a highly skilled team of professional boat builders to keep their creations flawless, the height of perfection. Boats made for boat lovers. And no one was more valuable to the company than Woody Woodworth. What he lacked in couth and kindness, he made up for in raw talent.

When Hayley pulled up to the large warehouse that housed the boats in production just across the bridge from Mount Desert Island in Trenton, she found Woody loitering outside taking a smoke break. If he was surprised to see her arriving at his workplace, he did not immediately show it.

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